Caring is not an Advantage
by Escaping-the-Mundane
Summary: Have you ever wondered what happened between Sherlock and Mycroft when they were growing up? All those little references, all that tension? This story is my explanation of it all. Rated for T only for angst at the moment.


**AN: Hello, fellow fanpeople! I've read fan-fiction for a while, but this is my first attempt at it. Sherlock and Mycroft's relationship has always fascinated me, and I decided I would try to imagine what happened between them as children. I had a lot of angsty sibling feels to deal with, and this is what happened. Enjoy and please review if you have the time. Constructive criticism welcome! The second chapter is in the works.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Mark or Benedict or BBC's Sherlock. I don't make any money from this, it is simply for fun. All rights to BBC and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. (No idea if that's how you are supposed to do a disclaimer on here, but I've seen them much more informal, so I hope it will be alright.)**

"They're fighting again."

Mycroft glanced up from his book to gaze at his thirteen year-old brother.

"Oh yes. I'm sure the whole neighborhood is well aware."

"I doubt that. The groundskeeper is at least half a mile away. If he can hear them shouting and throwing things, then he has far superior hearing than I would imagine. And we do not live in a neighborhood."

"Sarcasm, dear brother."

"Ah."

Mycroft sighed and shook his head. "Any idea what the topic of… discussion might be this time?"

"I believe it might involve my observation that father was out with some strange women last night."

"Have you ever considered holding your tongue?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Why should I? She deserved to know."

"Some things are better left unsaid. It doesn't speak well for our family to have our Father's promiscuous exploits pointed out in front of company."

"Why does it matter that there was company?"

"Because it upset Mummy."

"Why should it bother her? As I stated, I'm sure she was glad to know."

Mycroft slammed his book closed and stood up from his window seat. For a moment the only sounds in the room were the distant shouts of their parents and the rain slapping against the window. Mycroft took a deep breath and fixed Sherlock with a disdainful glower.

"Have you no sense of decency, Sherlock? Mummy was foolish to marry Father in the first place, but most people are foolish when it comes to love. It is a ludicrous, pointless emotion. It ruins people. People kill for it. Lie for it. Die for it. It is destructive. Mummy had potential to achieve so much. Instead, she married our father and fell into this unhappy lifestyle she leads, all for the illusion of love. Now she is miserable. And you, you are making it far worse. Can you not just leave well enough alone?" Mycroft hissed.

Sherlock expression remained unaffected, but his eyes showed his uncertainty.

"And what do you know? You believe yourself to be so wise, but Mummy says I'm much more clever. You can save your breath. You're simply jealous."

Mycroft laughed. "You believe I didn't see it? The signs were so obvious. Our father mocks Mummy and us with his actions. However instead of shouting it from the rooftops as you do, I keep my observations to myself. Unlike you, I have some common sense. You don't tell people what they do not want to know, Sherlock, because they simply won't listen. They will be angry. It is a fruitless endeavor, and you will only earn yourself more enemies. You will get much further in life when you learn to restrain yourself."

"I have no reason to restrain myself. I am correct in my observations. They will be thankful eventually. I have simply cleared the air between them."

At this Mycroft had had enough. He launched across the room and grabbed his younger brother by his shirt collar.

"I will make this very clear. Restrain. Yourself. You will never be respectable if you do not simply learn to listen instead of talk. You will make a fool of yourself, time and time again. Do you understand?" Mycroft snarled.

Sherlock's eyes widened. He pulled away from his brother and stumbled back a few steps.

"I don't care what you think. I don't care what any of you think. Leave me alone!" Sherlock's voice broke slightly as he spoke. With that he ran from the room.

* * *

Mycroft Holmes had always been far from the stereotypical young boy. Through his childhood and into his teens he had been more reserved than most children of his age. He always thought before he spoke, and was quick to make up his mind. He considered himself extremely settled, and had plenty of ambitions.

He didn't have friends, by choice. His parents encouraged him to go play with the children of their friends, but the other children always seemed silly and rude, in his not-so-humble opinion. Mycroft was always picked on, being called snobby or posh. He decided that perhaps adults would make better companions. However, whenever he attempted to start a conversation with his parents' friends, he was brushed off, being called humiliating things like 'adorable' or 'quaint'.

Whenever his parents threw lavish parties at their large estate, inviting countless guest, Mycroft preferred to feign a stomach ache and retire to his room. He doubted they would notice his absence. They never did.

* * *

Mycroft was three when Sherlock was born. As very young children they simply coexisted. They often spent hours together, each off in their own worlds, immersed in their own interests, each simply staying in each other's company.

Time passed. By the time Sherlock was six he was quite unusual. He seemed to have an endless memory. Nothing escaped his notice. He found everything fascinating, and became fixated on the most random of things. However, everything was transient for Sherlock. He liked insects when he was six, bees in particular. He could list every species of bee that was documented, and could describe in detail the behavior of different species. This obsession lasted for a year. When he was seven, Sherlock decided he wanted to be a pirate. He read every story of them he could possibly get his hands on. He often dressed up in theatrical pirate costumes and ran about with a wooden sword and an eye-patch. Mycroft found it endearing. The most fascinating thing to Mycroft was Sherlock's social disconnect. Sherlock would occasionally attempt to engage other children, if only to have someone to listen to his rants. He would cut into conversations with an entirely new subject. He would talk over the other children, and yell at them when they told him to be quiet. He would correct them if they said anything that was entirely factually correct. He would be annoyed if they ignored him, but would eventually wander off to find some other source of amusement. Sherlock seemed bewildered by the fact that other people didn't want to hear about everything he knew, but didn't seem particularly affected.

When Sherlock was eleven he became interested in detective work. He began trying to solve mysteries, usually as minor as finding their mother's glasses or figuring out who ate the last biscuit. But over time he became more talented. He could tell things about guests that his parents didn't know, and wasn't afraid to point them out. This caused a considerable amount of tension in the household. Their father began to grow tired of Sherlock offending friends and clients. He threatened to send him off to boarding school on a weekly basis – an idea that Sherlock's mother strongly disapproved of. Sherlock retaliated by behaving even worse. This was the cause of numerous fights between Sherlock and his parents. The house was often hectic and loud from this point on, with constant yelling. Mycroft detested it. At this time in his own life, Mycroft felt stuck in a rut – schoolwork, family parties, and trying to avoid being pulled into Sherlock's arguments took up most of his time.

* * *

A rivalry developed between Sherlock and Mycroft, as rivalries often develop between clever children that are close in age. They both battled for their parents' attentions, whether they were positive or negative. Mycroft worked hard in school and was the model son. Sherlock, on the other hand, seemed to search for ways to frustrate his parents. Whether it be insulting the dinner guests, or dodging school to go running off exploring, he always found a way to frustrate his parents. However, both his mother and father realized exactly how clever he was, and how much potential he had for numerous things, were he to apply himself. Whenever he did something that was remotely positive, he was smothered with praise, hoping to encourage whatever spark of good behavior that existed within him. Mycroft resented this, feeling that obedience should be expected of Sherlock. It was certainly expected of Mycroft. He was punished anytime he went astray, though in his case it wasn't very often.

* * *

"We expected better of you, Mycroft."

Mycroft stood in the center of the room, hands folded behind his back, facing his parents and brother. His parents' faces showed expressions of annoyance and disappointment. Both Sherlock and Mycroft wore masks that appeared unruffled and detached.

"I am sorry to disappoint. However, I stand by my actions."

"You stand by your decision to lie to your father?" His mother's voice was slightly shrill.

"At the time, it seemed the most prudent choice."

"A lie is a lie, regardless of your motives. I thought that we had taught you better than this!"

"Sherlock lies to you on a regular basis, I don't see why it is such a disturbance when the tables are turned." Mycroft spoke in a flat tone.

"Do not try to turn this on your brothe-"

Mycroft cut his father off sharply. "Why not? I believe he as at fault as much as I am."

"He came to us an informed us of what your grandfather had said, which-"

"It caused unnecessary unrest in the house. Grandfather was displeased with you, but he would have eventually forgotten it. It-"

Mycroft's father leapt from his armchair. "Mycroft!"

Mycroft's widened momentarily before returning to placid mask.

"I will say this once and clearly, and know that if you interrupt me again you will rue the day you were born. Regardless of the situation, no matter how much you would like to avoid a conflict, you will not lie. Am I understood?"

Mycroft stared at his father for a moment before answering. "Yes, sir."

"Good. Now, both of you, up to your rooms."

Without another word, Mycroft and Sherlock ascended the stairs to their respective bedrooms. Just before reaching the door to his own, Mycroft whirled around to face Sherlock.

"Was that really necessary?" Mycroft's tone was cool, but the hints of anger boiling under the surface were obvious.

Sherlock shrugged, not intimidated by his older brother.

"You might notice that I wasn't punished. You care far too much what they think of you. They have stopped any attempts to control me, and are simply relieved when I do something that they think is in their favor. You are at a disadvantage. Like most people, they are really rather easy to figure out and manipulate. You should give it a try." Sherlock said, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips as he leaned against the wall. "But of course, you won't do that. You are the good son, after all."

Mycroft kept his face blank, hiding his frustration.

"You did it to complicate things for me."

Without a pause Sherlock replied. "Of course."

Mycroft examined his brother silently for a moment before departing without another word. He could feel his brother's eyes on his back, knowing the smirk and look of triumph were still on his face.

* * *

Between a vicious rivalry and almost-constant fighting, the Holmes' household wasn't exactly a completely happy environment. At many points both Mycroft and Sherlock yearned for some sort of escape, and they both found in it in their own ways. Mycroft found his in school and books. He read anything and everything he could get his hands on, mostly things of a political nature. He delved into his schoolwork with a renewed vigor. He found some contentment in this, if not true happiness.

Sherlock, on the other hand, seemed to enjoy investigating scientific matters. He discovered everything he could, whether it be through experimenting, studying books, watching films, or searching on the Internet. Everything he found useful was stored away deep in his mind. He also took an interest in human psychology, and would often write notes in a journal he kept, documenting strange habits and behaviors he had discovered in people, and looking for the reasoning behind what they did.

Sherlock's other diversion was making trouble. He liked to tease Mycroft about his weight, considering Mycroft preferred hobbies of a sedentary nature and rarely got out to do anything physical. Mycroft wasn't fond of things that required legwork.

Another thing Sherlock found enjoyable was arguing politics with his father. Simply to cause aggravation, he would research political views that opposed his father's and then state them. This often ended with Sherlock being grounded in his room, but he decided that arguing his father into a corner was worth the inconvenience of a punishment. Eventually he decided politics were boring. When Mycroft brought up something Sherlock had mentioned months earlier, Sherlock acted as though he had forgotten it completely. This both mystified and annoyed Mycroft. It made his younger brother seem even less mature, it that was possible, in his opinion.

* * *

Both Sherlock and Mycroft remained aloof children, adamant that they had no need for friendships or relationships. Mycroft listened to his peers at his private school discuss the girls they pursued, sports and other meaningless things they did to occupy their time. He couldn't help but wonder how they could possibly be so pathetic.

* * *

Things began to change around the summer Mycroft turned sixteen. It began with Sherlock's disclosure of their father's affair, which was the beginning of the very long nasty divorce process that followed. At this time Mycroft stayed as far away from home as he possibly could. He took up a flat in London in the summer, preparing himself to start college where he would begin studying political science.

Part of Mycroft felt guilt for leaving Sherlock to fend for himself during their parents' war. He justified it to himself with the knowledge that he had warned him more than once to hold his tongue, but he knew deep down that it was slightly satisfying to get back at his brother. However, overall, he decided there was nothing more he could do. Perhaps this would teach Sherlock the error of his ways. In the years that followed, he often pondered the extreme changes that took place in his little brother after left, and wondering what he might have done differently, had he known the path that Sherlock would follow, and where he would eventually end up.


End file.
